C. Box - The Highway

* * *

When the little car was about ten feet from catching his rear bumper, he grinned and jerked the wheel hard to the left, cutting it off.

The headlights vanished from both of his mirrors.

He had the same thought he had earlier when the lot lizard approached his truck: they had no idea what kind of hell they were getting themselves into.

6:09 P.M., Tuesday, November 20

The double rear wheels of the trailer sprayed a mist on the windshield that blinded Gracie, and Danielle gasped as the huge truck suddenly swerved into their lane. The truck was so close Gracie could see its underbelly; long metal shafts, glistening hoses, swinging suspended tire chains, elbows of steel.

Gracie felt the Ford slowing down. She couldn’t see anything ahead now except glowing red taillights undulating through the moisture on the windshield. For all she knew, Danielle was in the process of driving under the rear end of the truck trailer.

“Turn on the windshield wipers!” she screamed at her sister.

“I am!”

“Slow down!”

“What do you think we’re doing?”

And Gracie realized it was true: the taillights filling the windshield were pulling away. Danielle had the wipers on high now, and the glass cleared. The big truck was a quarter mile in front of them, far enough now that the double sets of tires didn’t spray them.

“He did that on purpose!” Danielle seethed.

“I think he did,” Gracie agreed, completely unnerved by the thought.

Just before the huge truck had swung over to cut them off she’d caught a glimpse of the driver’s face in his mirror. He was fat and doughy with a square head and light-colored wavy hair and eyes set too close together. But she hadn’t seen him well enough to identify him if asked.

“He did that on purpose,” Danielle said again, this time in awe. “He could have killed us.”

“ Again, ” Gracie said.

“What an asshole.”

Gracie nodded.

“Is it possible he didn’t know we were back there? Maybe he was texting or talking on his phone or something?”

“I don’t know.”

“What an asshole .”

The grade of the road got steeper as they sped back up to the speed limit.

As it did, the big truck slowed. It was still in the passing lane.

“I’m going to try it again,” Danielle said, stomping on the gas.

“Danielle, don’t!”

“What,” her sister said, “you want to follow this jerk all the way to Helena? I want to get rid of him once and for all, the asshole.”

And with that they once again closed the gap between the Ford and the truck.

* * *

Gracie sat back deep in her seat and tried to say a prayer for them. She was unpracticed and couldn’t concentrate. They’d caught up with the rear wheels of the tractor itself and were nearly parallel to the door of the cab. The Ford wouldn’t go any faster up the grade, but neither could the truck. Gracie knew that if the truck driver swerved again into their lane he’d force the Ford off the road. She could only hope-and pray-that Danielle would shoot around him before he could change lanes again.

She looked over and watched the progress. Danielle stared straight ahead, leaning over the wheel, a look of crazy determination on her face. Through her window she watched their progress. One set of wheels by, then another. Amber running lights coursing through Danielle’s window as if being pulled through. Then the tires of the cab of the truck and the door. There was frontier-type lettering on the door but it was too high for Gracie to read in full. A name in script she couldn’t make out and the words, Livingston, Montana. She turned to look ahead and focused on the road, on the white stripe on the left side of the left lane, keeping a steady eye on it so the mist being thrown from underneath the tires of the truck wouldn’t further blind her. She didn’t know how well Danielle could see the road. They were nearly past.

Gracie jumped when cold wet wind howled through the inside of the little car.

“What are you doing?” she yelled at her sister.

In Gracie’s peripheral vision she could see Danielle leaning out her window with her left arm extended. The door of the truck just hung there, not receding, not pulling ahead.

“Loser!” Danielle screamed through the open window, raising her middle finger outside, “Fucking loser asshole!”

“Stop it!” Gracie yelled. “Get back in the car and go!”

“Loser! Asshole!”

“Danielle!”

With a satisfied smirk, her sister brought her arm back into the car and floored it. The massive headlights receded in the rearview mirror as they approached the summit of the long climb. Danielle reached over and hit the button and the driver’s window whirred back up.

“Ha!” Danielle said. “I told him.”

“Could he see you?”

“I think so,” she said. “I saw him lean over and look at me. I could just see the top of his forehead. He had the forehead of a loser.”

“You’re crazy,” Gracie said, meaning it. “Why did you have to yell at him? Why didn’t you just pass him and leave things alone?”

“And let him get away with it?” Danielle said. “No fucking way. He’s lucky we didn’t call 911 on his ass.”

Gracie sat still until she could breathe again. “Please stop talking like a truck driver,” she said.

6:12 P.M., Tuesday, November 20

The Lizard King had been preoccupied by the body in the back. When he’d swerved earlier that damned body had been thrown out of the bunk in his sleeper. It had landed with a thump behind him, and he was looking at it on the floor-he could make out its blank dark eyes through several layers of plastic-when the Ford made its move. By the time he looked up, the car was parallel to the cab. And when he stretched and looked over …

They were right there, the two young snotty girls in the little red Ford. Right below his passenger window. They were too far along now to easily force them off the road because he could no longer use the trailer as a bludgeon. When the car didn’t advance, he was curious and strained up in his seat to get a look at them.

That’s when he saw the contorted face of the looker thrust out of her open window. She was screaming at him but he could make out the words: Fucking loser asshole .

Loser.

It was like a hard slap in the face.

And because of the steep grade and his load holding him back, the Ford pulled away. He couldn’t push his rig any harder to catch up on the hill.

He bellowed in rage as the car passed him and gained distance before it summited the long haul and vanished down the other side.

* * *

As he topped the hill, he looked out ahead of him. He could see for miles. In the distance, maybe a mile away, were the two tiny red taillights of the Ford. There were no other cars on the interstate in either direction for as far as he could see.

Less than ten miles ahead was the roadblock set up by the Montana Highway Patrol. He’d no doubt catch up with them there. He envisioned a scenario where he pulled them out of their car and tore them apart with his hands.

Then a cold and razor-edged calm took him over. He’d felt it before, many times. It was the feeling he got when he was stalking prey.

The Lizard King reached into his jumpsuit and pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed his partner.

“I’ll be there tonight,” he said.

“You got a load?”

“Negatory.”

Silence. Pained, angry silence.

Then he said, “Remember that situation you said you wanted a while back? You know what I’m talking about.”